


Boy in the Blood

by knightinpinkunderwear



Series: Dexter Morgan get more therapy challenge [1]
Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Crime Scenes, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Marina view hotel, Memories, Panic Attacks, Repressed Memories, Season/Series 01, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22472731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: Dexter can't snap himself out of the panic that the crime scene at 103 Marina View Hotel gives him.
Relationships: Debra Morgan & Dexter Morgan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rita Bennett/Dexter Morgan
Series: Dexter Morgan get more therapy challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799461
Comments: 14
Kudos: 121





	Boy in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Deb geting to be the strong and comforting one while Dexter is a mess is my shit.

"Can't remember the last time we went prophylactic," Dexter couldn't help but be excited, with how many forensic personnel and unis they'd called to this Hotel the scene had to be big.

And the key! Sent in a jar of blood... Cryptic and dramatic, and Dexter was sincerely hoping that it was his friend back to play some more.

"Speak for yourself, I had this chick last night-"

"-I'll stop ya there, Vince," Dexter said, making a face. Vince's jokes were already of the gross and TMI variety, he didn't need to hear the actual sex stories that his perverted hypochondriac colleague had to tell.

"Dex, it's bad in there," Deb said, her face pinched with leftover queasiness.

"Okay," he shrugged, unable to dampen his positive attitude at her warning.

"I'm serious," his sister said, but she was significantly more squeamish then Dear Disturbed Dexter had ever been. 

"Okay," he reiterated. 

"She's not joking, it's like your wet dream in there," Doakes added, with his customary rudeness. 

" _Okay_ ," Dexter rolled his eyes, not enjoying the sex jokes being made about him. His perversion was not of the sexual nature, just the perversion of character and feelings. Mostly in that he didn't have any. 

He crossed under the yellow tape threshold and adjusted his breathing mask, venturing to see what his friend had made for him. (Hoping that it was his dear playmate, his presence had been missed). 

Given Debra's and Doakes' reaction, there must have been a lot of blood, and Dexter couldn't help but be thrilled by the idea of a crime scene just for him. 

He nodded at the two unis stationed in the hallway. He got close, pushing his body weight against the door to open it. 

Everything was red. 

So much blood. 

He felt faint. 

It was clawing up the walls, on the beds. 

It was on the floor like a thick red carpet. At least an inch of hot, sticky blood all standing still. 

The room was swimming before his eyes. The blood moving of its own accord. 

His knees gave. 

Then he was lying in it, face down. 

The _smell_. 

Dexter couldn't breathe. He gasped, trying to pull himself up, slipping in it. 

His ears were ringing. Full with the sound of a little boy screaming. 

He pulled himself up, instead of his face reflected in the blood, it was a little boy's. The same one that was screaming. 

He _knew_ that boy. 

But he wasn't thinking about that. No, he wasn't thinking at all. 

The panic and fear were closing in around his heart and squeezing his lungs. 

He opened his mouth, choking down a breath, blood on his face, on his hands and clothes, and the little boy wasn't the only one screaming anymore. 

* * *

"There's a situation!" one of the unis shouted, running through the door into the hot Miami weather. 

"What do you mean?" LaGuerta asks, just a second before everyone else had the chance to say the same fuckin' thing

"Morgan's screaming in there, he fell and he sounded like he's choking,"

"Well, get him out of there!" Deb shouted. The fuck did they mean he was screaming and choking and they didn't-

"We can't," the poor uni responded, sounding exactly like a helpless college kid.

Then Deb was running in, taking the fucking stairs becuase she was not gonna leave her brother waiting. Doakes was following and the uni and a few others too. 

Deb had never heard Dexter like that, her brother was more of the bottling stuff up and dealing with it alone type. He was not generally loud. 

She could hear his screaming and sobbing and the gross noise of blood splashing as he kicked and tried to get up. The other uni was trying to get ahold of him, the blood already all over his uniform (which was gonna be a real bitch to dry clean if he ever got it back from forensics). 

She didn't think about how her suit was relatively new, all she did was hear her brother, see him, and know she had to get in there and help. 

He'd somehow ripped off both his safety goggle and gas mask, the hood of his biohazard suit fallen of his head. There was blood on his face and in his hair. He looked awful. 

She grabbed him and he flinched with his whole body, screaming louder until there wasn't any air left in his lungs. Then came an awful choking sound. He was still trying to get away. Debra let him.

Dexter backed himself up against a bloody wall hands limp against the bloody carpet. His eyes were glazed over, far away in terror. 

Deb wished she knew from what. 

" _mommy!_ " The voice was so small and broken Deb almost didn't realize it came from her brother. The only way that a scene like this would bring up the image of blood and a mom would be his bio-mom...who --according to Dad-- died in a horrible accident. Deb was starting to think Dad had a good reason for being glad that Dexter didn't remember anything before being a Morgan. 

Dexter was crying, holy mother of fuck, he was crying. His gloved hand shaking in the blood, making little ripples. 

Deb reached out and held it, Dex's breathing started to be a bit less fucked. 

"Biney?" Her brother asked, sounding just as far away as the glazed, sad look in his eyes. 

What seemed only a few minutes later a paramedic came and sedated Dex, after trying and failing to get him to willingly leave the room. 

_"Biney, I want Biney!"_ He'd screamed, then they'd shoved a syringe in his throat. Deb threw her suit jacket at Masuka and followed into the ambulance. 

At the hospital she got a change of clothes and a call to Dexter from Rita about her fuckwad of an abusive ex-husband suing her for assault. (It was a lot of fun to explain to the poor woman that Dexter had a panic attack and was at the hospital). 

Rita swore (she actually fucking swore, what a miracle) and promised to visit. 

Deb had just finished cleaning the blood from Dexter's face and hair with baby wipes when Rudy came in. 

She was starting to think he was a keeper, since he already seemed to be thinking of Dex like a brother. 

LaGuerta gave her the day off and said that Dex could have the week. 

Masuka and Angel came by to check in. They both looked queasy. 

Doakes even came, looking like he might stop giving Dexter such a hard time (maybe he'd only be nice for a week, but it was better than nothing). 

Rita brought a pork sandwich (his favorite meal next to steak and potatoes) and a thermos of tea for when Dex woke up. (She said it was a calming blend, and Deb was gonna make sure he drank at least half of it). 

Dexter woke up at 4:27 in the afternoon. He of course did not want to stay in the hospital but stayed in place when Deb brought up his breathing, or lack thereof. 

While he sipped the tea she made it clear that he was not going back to work after an episode like that. 

"Do you even remember what happened at the hotel?"

His eyes glazed over for a second filling back up with that horrible fear, she made him take another sip of tea and he came back to her. 

"Dex, talk to me,"

"I remember the blood, there was so much it made me dizzy and sick and afraid,"

"You were screaming when I came up,"

"There was a little boy screaming in my head, I could hear him, and when I looked in the blood I saw his face, Deb, I didn't like him I wanted him to go away," he said between sips of tea. "But he wouldn't go and we were both screaming," 

"Dexter?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember anything from before you were adopted?"

"I don't think so...do you think the boy was from my life before?"

"It's your life Dex," she was trying to be gentle, and fuck all she had no practice besides Rita. (Oh if she were here this would be easier, but she had enough to deal with, with Paul Fuck-face Bennet back in town). 

Dexter nodded, he still hadn't even looked at the sandwich, man, he was out of it. 

"Deb?" She looked up, he looked nervous or anxious or both. 

"Yea?"

"The boy I saw in the blood...I think he was me," and fuck if that wasn't what she'd been thinking. She just hoped she could get him into what ever fucking therapy they had for repressed memories of childhood trauma. Becuase if Dex had seen his parents die... Well, that would definitely explain how he reacted in that hotel room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Making people be nice to Dexter by showing that he's a little weird becuase of trauma? I am guilty. Dexter is also an emotionally repressed idiot and I'd rather he go to fucking therapy and figure out that he doesnt not have feelings, he's just a textbook case of repression and bottling shit up. 
> 
> This story also gets rid of Dexter hitting Paul in the head with a frying pan like an idiot becuase I didnt particularly like that much.


End file.
